The Secret Holocaust Diaries: The Untold Story of Nonna Bannister (24 page)

January 1943

What do other people think of people like Mama and me? How did the German generals find out that Mama can paint? She is painting away all day long—what will they do with all her paintings later? (Maybe they will sell them to the British or Americans.)

We were relatively comfortable; the Germans were feeding us our ration of soup and bread, and the work was not too difficult. However, the barracks were not well heated, so Mama and I slept together on one cot so we could double the cover and try to stay warm. There were German workers at the same factory. We were kept separated from them by a heavy metal fence—but we could see them and speak to them through the fence. Gradually, we were able to make some friends, and they would occasionally sneak us a cookie or some other kind of food.

We worked at this factory for about six months without any incidents, until one day a couple of SS men came to our barracks area and went in and talked to our Control Officer for about an hour. Then they came to our area and asked, “How many of you are Russian?” We raised our hands. Then he asked, “How many of you are Ukrainian?” We raised our hands. Then he asked, “Is there anyone here that can speak fluent German?” I was hesitant to raise my hand because Mama could not speak German, and I didn’t want to be separated from her.

When he asked the question again, I raised my hand and told him (in German) that I could speak German. He looked at me and said, “Then talk to me in German—I will talk to you, and you answer me in German.” After several sentences, he asked me where I had learned to speak the German language so well. I was afraid to tell him that I had learned it from Papa, so I told him that I had just “picked it up,” since I had an interest in languages. He told me that he needed me at another factory where there were people of several languages working. I told him that Mama was here and I didn’t want to leave her. He asked, “Where is your mother?” I pointed to Mama, who was sitting on a bench. He called Mama to come join us, and he told us that we were being transferred to a
Textilfabrik
in Lichtenau, Germany, which was about a hundred and fifty miles away. He and a younger SS man took us in a car and we left for our new assignment.

On the way, we had a conversation about how many languages I could speak, and he asked if I could speak the Jewish language. I told him that I could not speak Yiddish but that I could understand and translate the language. It took us several hours to reach the new labor camp. He kept assuring us that we were not being taken to a concentration camp but that we would be assigned new duties at the textile factory. When we arrived, he took us into the factory. The noise was so loud that we could not hear anything. He showed us the machinery and asked if I thought that I could do this work. I assured him that I could and that Mama would be an expert. He asked to look at my hands and kind of shrugged at my small young hands. Then he and the younger SS man left, and we never saw them again.

We were assigned to the prison barracks, which were about six miles from the factory, and we were again surrounded by barbed-wire fences. Our living conditions were about the same, but the food was a little better there, and each barracks building had a potbellied stove that kept us warm at night. We had to march to work and from work—this meant that we had to get up at about 4:00 a.m. and march to work guarded by one SS man and one dog for each twelve of the workers. However, we were not mistreated, and we gained the trust of our camp Kommandant, who took a liking to Mama and me. He knew that Mama was an artist and could paint some beautiful art, so he would bring her oil paint and canvas and ask her to paint pictures for him and his wife. Our workload lightened, and soon they were letting us go on breaks to a wooded area where there were pine trees—we felt privileged to get this opportunity. There was no way to get away because of our clothing and the badges—everyone knew that we were “labor camp” people.

After a few months of working at the Textilfabrik, the Germans moved us to another compound near the trees and told us that there was no more work for us [. . .]

“NO MORE WORK FOR US” •
The transcript breaks off here, apparently missing a page. Anna and Nonna were taken to a porcelain factory at Buchenwald, Germany, near Weimar, in the hills of Germany. There, Nonna came down with tonsillitis and ran a high fever.

[. . .] of tonsillitis and was running a pretty high fever. The camp Kommandant brought me some aspirin to help with the fever—aspirin was about the only medicine that was available. While we were in this camp, we considered ourselves very lucky except when one of us would get sick and we had to take care of ourselves. I remember one of the girls started to run a high fever, and we called the Kommandant and told him that this girl was very sick. He came and brought some aspirin, but when her fever caused her to lapse into unconsciousness, he decided that he had better call the doctor to make sure that it was not contagious. As it happened, she had developed scarlet fever, and they came and moved her out. We didn’t know where they took her, but they disinfected the whole area in the camp and took her bed and all her belongings away. We never knew what happened to her, but we kept quiet when we would get sick!

We were OK as long as we could march to the factory and work. I had developed a very badly infected toe (caused by shoes that were too short). I started to limp because the pain was getting unbearable. The Kommandant noticed me limping, and he brought me some medicine and told Mama to cut a hole in the shoe over the infected toe, which had already begun to turn black. The Kommandant brought a pair of pliers and pulled the toenail out, and I got relief immediately. I was happy that the infection did not spread.

We all tried to doctor our own illnesses, and we helped each other the best we knew how, since we didn’t know what had happened to our friend. It was some time later that we were told that the sick ones were being gassed or burned in the concentration-camp facilities. We thought it was only rumor, but we could believe that this was happening and we no longer took any chances by complaining!

Several weeks passed, and again we were visited by the SS men. They went in and talked to the camp Kommandant for a while, and he came out and told Mama and me to pack our things because we were being transferred back to the factory in Kassel.

By that time, my German was fluent, and I had picked up a few more languages from other prisoners at the textile factory. Once again, we were taken by car on the long ride to Kassel, but on this trip, there was no conversation taking place.

35: The Break

Spring 1943

February 1943

We are moving out today—I think they want Mama and me in a better place. But would this mean more freedom for us? They listen to me speaking, and they look so stupid to me. Is it so unusual for anyone to speak more than two languages? They are so dumb! Papa was wrong about them and their intelligence. These people are not even smart—they are just greedy, I think. Maybe even here there are some good people. Where are they?

Soon after we were returned to Kassel, Mama and I got a real good break—the Germans transferred us to work in a hospital that had been built for the prisoners of war and people from the labor camps.

HOSPITAL WORK •
This move proved most fortunate for Anna and Nonna. Yevgeny had been right to forearm Nonna with the ability to speak fluent German and other languages.

This hospital was for all nationalities. It was built like barracks and was adjacent to the Catholic hospital at Marienkrankenhaus, Germany. When we arrived at the hospital, two Catholic nuns came out to greet us and were joined by the priest. They were so friendly and so kind that Mama and I were a little bit in awe! The nuns directed us up to the fifth floor of the Catholic hospital and assigned a room for us to live in. The room was very pretty and clean with two nice beds in it—Mama and I just couldn’t believe that we could be so lucky and that we would not be forced to live in the barracks of a labor camp surrounded by barbed wire! The nuns also told us that we could take our meals there in the hospital—Mama and I were so happy. At last our ray of sunshine had come through. We decided that we would give them our best effort in our work to make up for their kindness.

“RAY OF SUNSHINE” •
The Catholic hospital must have seemed like paradise to Nonna and Anna. They had been sleeping on mattressless boards at the camps, and here they had real, clean beds. They also enjoyed good healthy food instead of stale bread and watery, rusty cabbage soup. Though they were still technically prisoners, the nuns and priests treated them like valued coworkers.

The hospital was run by a Catholic order, staffed with nuns and priests, and was considered to be one of the better hospitals in Germany. The French prisoners of war had built a bunker in the rear of the main hospital, to be used during the war. The bunker was four floors underground and had two floors aboveground. There were no elevators in the bunker, so everyone was forced to use the stairwells to move from floor to floor—this was quite inconvenient when we had to move patients around.

Mama assumed her duties of working the regular wards of the prisoners’ hospital, which was built behind the bunker area, and was able to return to the main hospital when she was off duty. I started my duties in the admitting office of the prisoners’ hospital and was taught to type on an old manual typewriter by Sister Pia, who had taken a liking to me.

I was young and eager to learn anything to come my way, but the main thing that I was doing was translating and helping with communications between the nurses and the patients. There were all nationalities of people who had been taken prisoner and were being held in regular prison camps, but when they would get sick, they would be sent to this hospital for treatment. There were even some American soldiers that came to the hospital for treatment, but at that time, I was not fluent in the English language. Mama and I were very happy that such good luck had come our way, and we were treated like family members by the priests and nuns.

Spring 1943

I like this place called Marienkrankenhaus. The nuns are very kind, and I like the job of interpreting for Dr. Hoffman. He is a good man. I would not mind to be a doctor and work in the operating rooms. I wonder if this would be all right with Papa—me in the medical profession. Maybe I will become a nurse.

Schwester Pia is teaching me to work in the admitting office and to type. I like her a lot—she is so patient with me. So are Sister (Schwester) Longa and Sister Mauricia.

Today I spent some time with Sister Mauricia in the lab. Every night now, I will be studying in the library. They gave me a test today, and Herr Dr. Hoffman (I like him) thinks that I am ready to finish my high school education soon—I think so too. What I have learned is elementary “junk.” It is good enough for Lena—not for me, though.

LENA •
Here she probably refers to herself as “Lena.” The nuns gave Nonna the German name Lena Schulz to hide her identity.

Some of the doctors, including the chief of staff at the prisoners’ hospital, were old emigrants from Russia and Poland. Even though Mama did not speak German, she was able to communicate with these doctors since she spoke and understood both Russian and Polish, and she seemed to be very happy. However, one of the old Russian doctors began to make advances toward Mama. She tried everything to discourage him. He was much older than Mama, who was then thirty-seven years old and a beautiful woman. His name was Dr. Schevchenko. He was persistent in his pursuit of Mama, and he would follow her around trying to grab her—he even asked Mama to have an affair with him. This was the last thing that Mama was thinking about under the circumstances we were in.

One day he was walking behind Mama, making fresh remarks, and tried to grab her rear; when he did, Mama turned around and slapped him very hard. Of course, he got very mad and really talked ugly to Mama, then stormed off. One of the other doctors told Mama that Dr. Schevchenko was really mad at her; he told Mama to stay away from him—that he could cause a lot of problems for her. This worried Mama, but she was a high-spirited woman, and in some ways she was daring in some of the things she did.

I told Schwester Blonda the story about old Dr. Schevchenko and his advances to Mama and said that Mama did not want to get involved with him. I also told her what the other doctor had warned Mama about. The
Oberschwester
(Mother Superior), Sister Blonda, told Mama that she was going to move her from the prisoners’ hospital to the main German hospital to get her away from Dr. Schevchenko. Mama was transferred to work in the main hospital in the contagious ward where people with communicable diseases were treated. I continued to work in the admitting office of the prisoners’ hospital, and I also spent some time working in the admitting office of the German hospital. Mama and I continued to live in our room on the fifth floor, but we were worried about what had taken place. Also, the nuns began to worry about Mama bringing some communicable disease germs and exposing me, so they decided to move Mama to regular duties in the main hospital.